Let the Spectacle Astound You
by Camberleigh Fauconbridge
Summary: Christine and Raoul board the SS Spectacle, a ship rumored to be unsinkable. But boarding a ship doesn't mean memories are forgotten. Just when Christine thinks she can put the Opéra's horrific events behind her, she is confronted with someone she thought dead. But tragedy is always looming just beyond reach. 25th Anniversary.


**Imagined Cast**: Ramin Karimloo as the Phantom; Sierra Boggess as Christine; Hadley Fraser as Raoul; Wendy Ferguson as Carlotta; Liz Robertson as Madame Giry; Daisy Maywood as Meg.

**Disclaimer**: _Le Fantôme de l'Opéra_ and its musical counterpart are the property of Gaston Leroux, Cameron Mackintosh, Andrew Lloyd Webber, all of the casts and all of the creative teams that have produced any production of _The Phantom of the Opera_. No money is being made from this story, and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Note**: This is a mixture of the original 1909 novel and the 1986 musical adaption/2011 concert production. There are elements of the book, but almost all of the information comes from the musical stage adaption.

This is set four months after _Don Juan Triumphant_. Christine and Raoul are engaged, not married; the Phantom has not been seen during these four months and is presumed dead; and there is _**no**_ _Beneath a Moonless Sky_ resulting in Christine getting pregnant. _**This is not**_ _Love Never Dies_.

* * *

_"…God my maker, who giveth songs in the night..."_

_-Job 35:10_

* * *

1.

The pier of Calais was swarming with reporters, as well as various nobility boarding ocean liners. The news was that Christine Daaé, fresh from her time at the Opéra Populaire, would be boarding the SS _Spectacle_ with her fiancé the vicomte de Chagny. The ship was bound for New York City in America, and the voyage would take one week.

Needless to say, the press, as they are wont to do, heard only snatches of the truth and relied more on gossip to sell their stories. Tales that Christine Daaé was now an immensely rich heiress, and that she and the vicomte were planning on performing their wedding ceremony onboard the ship, were rampant. Stories such as these weren't true, but they would fill the tabloids well enough.

Then someone saw the Chagny carriage at the end of the street. The reporters rushed around the carriage as it came to a stop. When the door opened, everyone was slightly disappointed to see the vicomte step out first. But the noise level rose to ear-splitting as a figure descended after him.

It was _her_.

Christine Daaé was a vision of loveliness, in a dress of creamy lace, her curls swept up in an elaborate coiffure, a wide-brimmed hand angled just so. She looked exquisite, and the instant flashes of the cameras confirmed it.

Questions, obnoxious and persistent, filled the air. Was there a specific reason for this vacation? Was she going back to the Opéra Populaire after her return from America? Was it true that they would be married onboard the SS _Spectacle_? A barrage of inquiries were hurled at the singer.

Then:

"Was it true that you were close to the composer of _Don Juan Triumphant_?"

Christine Daaé looked oddly stricken.

Everyone could remember the première of the bold new opera in the early part of 1882. It was dissonant and hard to listen to at times, and it had only run for one performance. If the gossip was to be believed, the role of the leading lady had been written especially for Christine Daaé. No one knew the identities of the composer of librettist.

The performance was cut short near the end of the fourth act. During the great duet between the unsuspecting Aminta and the disguised Don Juan, Christine Daaé had lifted Don Juan's hood to reveal a strange tenor in a mask. Why had Ubaldo Piangi been replaced mid-performance?

The show seemed to stop, as the seasoned patrons could tell the masked tenor was breaking character (one indication was that he spoke in French, while the entire opera was written in Spanish), and saying words that did not seem like recitative or even lines. Then, in a flash, Christine Daaé tore the mask of the tenor's face. Before the audience could really see what was beneath the mask, the tenor dragged Christine Daaé offstage. There was a gunshot from the orchestra pit, and everyone could see the vicomte de Chagny stand from his seat in Box Five, of all places, and disappear into the hallway of the box level.

The audience waited in their seats in shock as pandemonium could be heard from backstage. Was this part of the performance? Evidently not, as M. André came out to inform the audience that the performance had been canceled due to a shocking death in the cast. The situation was oddly like the disastrous performance of _Il Muto_ the summer of 1881.

But this still did not explain why Christine Daaé was now growing close to tears. Some wondered if she was emotionally frail.

In contrast to Christine Daaé's reaction, Raoul de Chagny instantly took the opera singer's arms and, leading her through the crowd of reporters, refused to answer any questions. Several porters followed with the luggage as the carriage left.

The vicomte and the soprano arrived at the foot of the SS _Spectacle_'s gangplank. As the porters carriage the luggage aboard and the two handed of the necessary paperwork, the reporters, with nothing to do— information about boarding passes would hardly make for a good story— looked at the ship itself and grew more interested. The massive ocean liner was said to be unsinkable, or so its designers claimed. It could easily carry thousands of passengers, and it was rumored that the captain of the ship would be attempting to break the record for the fast voyage across the Atlantic, which currently stood at eight days. If the _Spectacle_ could make it in seven, the captain's fame would be secured.

Then, finally, Raoul de Chagny and Christine Daaé ascended the gangplank and went to the Promenade Deck to join the other passengers. The reporters went haywire, flashing their cameras so fast that the devices nearly gave out. The image of Christine Daaé at the railing of the SS _Spectacle_, a graceful, lithe hand in the air and a gentle smile on her lips, would surely make the front page of any newspaper.


End file.
